


Is This Love?

by endearinglybedraggled



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mild S&M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 23:31:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10673043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endearinglybedraggled/pseuds/endearinglybedraggled
Summary: Sherlock/Moriarty drabble based on a prompt I saw a few years ago on a kink_meme post. Brief mentions of rough sex.Moriarty asks Sherlock, “is this love?” like children ask their parents, “are we there yet?”





	Is This Love?

_Moriarty asks Sherlock, “is this love?” like children ask their parents, “are we there yet?”_

The first time he asks is not long after their first meeting by the pool.

They both know then, certainly and immediately, that they are made for each other in a way that no one else will ever quite live up to and the thrill of finally not being bored is overwhelming. Jim texts Sherlock, not long after that first meeting, needing a distraction. There are meaningless quips back and forth, empty words and hollow questions. It is enough to simply know that the other person is there, acknowledging them, thinking of them.

Neither of them say it, of course.

Neither of them acknowledges this desperate reliance they are forming, and neither acknowledges the fact that one will eventually have to die.

They take to talking sometimes, when they need a reminder that they are not the only one and that there is something beyond the inanity to live for. It is a dry afternoon when Jim phones Sherlock and he spits out the question with something akin to disgust.

Sentiment. Comfort. Companionship.

These are new realms for both of them and neither wants the answer to Jim's question to be yes.

When Jim asks in that high, lilting voice if this is _love_ , if this is what the _ordinary_ people talk about, Sherlock feels an overwhelming wave of nausea and breathes out,

“No. Don’t lower yourself to caring.”

He is never really sure which of them he is talking to.

 

The second time is much later.

This time, Jim says it as he thrusts roughly and desperately into Sherlock once, twice, three final times before coming hard and kissing Sherlock with everything but tenderness.

As Jim rolls off of him to lie next to him on the double bed in the hotel room, breathless and eyes lidded, he asks.

When Sherlock doesn’t respond, he demands again, angrily,

“ _Is_ this love?”

There is fear in his eyes and his words are punctuated with rage at being ignored and terror at being answered.

“This is what they do, isn’t it? They have sex, and they talk to each other and they _flirt_ … Sherlock, look at me. Is. This. Love.”

“Well, Jim, as convincing as your argument is I believe that for most, flirting is not synonymous with strapping bombs to several people and _their_ sex is, well…”

Sherlock pointedly looks at his own bruised and bloodied chest with the marks of last night lingering fresh and the marks of the nights that came before beginning to fade,

“I don’t think they tend to leave scars.”

Moriarty is silent for a moment and when Sherlock glances at him he is sure he sees disappointment and hurt written across his face. It is quickly wiped away and replaced with a smirk.

“ _Bo_ - _ring_.”

A ghost of a smile flits over Sherlock’s face.

Even if it wasn’t love (and he would never tell Jim but he was getting less and less sure about that) it certainly could not be described as boring. He runs a hand through Jim’s hair, and Jim leans into the touch, moaning slightly.

“It’s not love, Jim, go to sleep.”

Jim curls further into Sherlock’s shoulder, draping a pale arm over his chest and breathes softly.

Sherlock almost believes himself.


End file.
